LIFE ON A BORROWED CAMERA

Not that people with perfect vision will be seeing much these days.
A few moments earlier, this was a moderately open view. A few moments later and everything was hidden behind a fast veiling, white curtain.

The default weather here is currently 'mist'. This somewhat reflects my own state of joyfulness - which could be more nearly described as - 'fog'. It will be another two weeks before my camera is returned from the menders; and just when I was thinking after the demise and replacement of my laptop, the demise and not-replacement of my music speaker, the smashing of my mobile phone (I tripped over a low concrete barrier) - there's nothing else to break . . . my glasses frame has suddenly and unaccountably bent and an arm is falling off so it's not just that the world is out of focus when looked at through a broken lens - I'm walking around with crossed eyes, constantly angling my head up and down and sideways to see if there's any way I can make things look better.

On the up-side . .  I've borrowed a camera.

On the down-side . . . although pictures taken with it may theoretically be in focus I have no idea whether they are or are not. (Broken glasses!)

I hope by now, you are completely overcome with sympathy, fighting back tears and playing violins.

Friends don't necessarily help. "I know!" said one. "Come with me for a walk. That'll cheer you up!" After quite a long trek across the grey wastes of an abandoned Park-and-Ride, and after falling up a muddy, brambly bank because everything was so wet, we could see acres of brown reeds sticking up through invisible water-logged ground. I could tart up this picture. I've tried. So I know. With a bit of adjustment I can make it brighter and clearer. But to blog it like that would be to lie. What lay before us was a landscape of stripy murkiness. Which, I hope, is how you see it here.

Fortunately, I was not invited to put on waders to see if we could get through, nor given an axe and a canoe. Instead, my guide diverted us between clumps and bumps of tough grass, along muddy paths and deep puddles so I could experience the pleasure of cold brown water flowing happily into my only presentable pair of shoes.

But even in the murk of a warm, dull spring, there are moments of hope . . . 

Last week I reviewed a book on how to cheer an urban landscape with flowers. . . and brightened the post with an illustration from it of a balcony crammed with plants. I was in Southampton yesterday and as I climbed despondently up the hill from the station into town (wondering how much joy I could summon up from admiring concrete blocks of flats built to resemble ocean liners) I glanced up (never forget to glance up) and saw this. One Cordyline on one balcony. Is this a cheerful reminder that not everything is as bleak as it seems? Or does it emphasise that apart from itself everything is, indeed, bleak?

I've not yet decided.

(I hope you're enjoying this post!)

Here's a bit of light:

Earlier this week, I was going from house to house, posting leaflets through letter boxes suggesting - that plans to close the children's ward and neo-natal unit at our local hospital are not a good idea (that's not the light) when I came across this car. In some ways it could be a sad car. But it wasn't. It wasn't muddy (unlike my shoes) and the paintwork was shiny (unlike my shoes) and growing in the slot where the wipers swish - there was this plant. The photo isn't in focus . .  grey day, broken glasses, unfamiliar camera . . . but it brought - I wish I could say 'leap of joy' into a bleak and un-imaginative heart  (more violins please) . . . but it inspired a little spark of 'oh, look at this!'-ness A man emerged from the house opposite. After all, I was cavorting in his neighbour's drive, taking photographs of his neighbour's car etc. etc. But I couldn't summon enough enthusiasm to call him over to see . . just nodded, put my camera away and went to push the next leaflet through the nest annoying draft-excluding bristles in the letterbox of the next door along. But a bit of my brain (the tiny part spared from moaning about broken glasses) has, since then, been going around almost on its own - singing a little song.

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YOU'VE GOT TO SEE IT TO BELIEVE IT

Note the path. Important.
(The white line along the top of Chesil Beach is spray from the sea low down on the other side.)
This photo was taken March 1st 2015.

If you look into the sun you won't see anything. And if it's a hazy day and you look behind you, you won't see your shadow. And if the sun is in an inconvenient place - you won't be able to move it.

Such is life.

The path! See the path?
This is how it was on May 6th 2014

BUT. If you don't know what something is like now you may fail to realise how much it has changed when you reach the future. By then, you'll either have forgotten what was or be so overwhelmed by the present that you won't care any more.

I'm not being philosophical. It's a fact.

Last year I showed what the foot of Chesil Beach is like when thrift is in flower. I was also able to show you the context, how there are plants on the landward side of this huge, huge, long, long mound of pebbles, even though they fade out as you walk up and up till you see the sea down, down, down on the other side.

It was sunny on Sunday. But it was hazy too. And spray from the sea was misting the air where Chesil Beach meets land at Portland.

March 1st 2015

So even though masses of people had come out walking in this suddenly pleasant weather, it wasn't a good day for photographs. Which is a bit of a daft thing to say beside a picture dominated by a deep blue sky. But that's because I was looking in the other direction when I took it - away from the sun. A good principle! And at considerable distance from the cold sea spray. Another good idea when carrying a camera!

BUT (the point of the first BUT) if you don't see it now, you won't be as surprised as you will be when the thrift is out in May.

June 1st 2014.

I found it hard to decide. Should I provide you with an exceptionally boring post . . . ? Or shall I show you what will happen . . . ?  I was going to go with boring - but by the time the time the flowers come out you may have forgotten what it's like now. So . . . here we are with a now, compared with a then, which by previous years' experience will be what it will be in a couple of months' time. Miracles!

Here's another miracle. It's cold. It's not summer. But looking straight into the sky - larks would you say? (They kept flying overhead - except they stopped when I pointed the camera into the air and came back when I pressed the 'end of video' button. Never mind. You can hear them. Promises of summer.)

(I don't know how YouTube works but when I listened to this the larks suddenly gave way to a woman explaining how to make Christmas cake - which was a bit abrupt and disconcerting. So beware of seasonal and contributor muddle!)

Then we turn round and cross the road. Portland Harbour (over the bank) is a great place for sailing and kite surfing. Here it is now.

The grass is a bit drier than it looks in this picture.
March 1st 2014

Here is the 'now' 

May 14th 2014

and here is the 'will be'.











Shall we make a date for May?

(All 'then' pictures are taken from the post 'Thrift on Chesil Beach' from June 2nd 2014.)

* * *

But first: The Tree Following Link box opens at 7am on 7th March and closes on the 14th. (UK time.) See you there!

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WOBBLING IN THE WIND - A STUCK FOOT POST

For my Stuck Foot Post I thought I'd stick my foot on hard sand in the shelter of a vertical though not enormously tall cliff. This part of the south coast of England sticks out into the sea and on this day (15th January 2015) the western side was being beaten by big waves while about a mile and a half away (where I was) they were lapping gently against the beach. None the less, the plants and I were wobbling around in the wind - those which poked up above the cliff's shelter were thrashing.

The tide was going out and little streams were pouring out of the rocks and earth across a narrow strip that is mostly covered in sea water at high tide. With it going out, I was safe. It would have been a stupid place to stand otherwise.

I don't understand the sun. I would have expected it to be further round to the right. But, there it was, glaring in more from the south than I had anticipated. Or perhaps I'd turned more corners than I thought. A few years ago I bought a compass to help me decide where to go for what pictures but my belt, my mobile phone, all sorts of external metals interfered so it was a waste of time. I'd sit in a cafe and watch the needle spin round while I drank my coffee. The sun is more predictable. I may not know precisely where it will be but I generally have enough of an idea to know where to go and when. But I like silhouettes and this one was romantic.

Fortunately, the sun being a bit wester than I'd anticipated it better lit what I wanted to see. Swinging round to the right you can see the rocks I would have been sitting on if I weren't needing a good swivel. (I was very assiduous about this stuck-footedness so you can admire my flexibility in being able to get a 360 degrees view. (Admire, admire!)

These composite rocks confuse me. There are places where broken concrete has been used to defend the cliffs from the sea. And rocks from other places have been brought in to do do the same - which confuses a confusion of geologies. In this rock you can see loads of what I take to be oyster shells embedded in it. These could be new. (There are oyster beds near by.) They could be Roman. (Romans liked oysters.) They could be fossils. To me with my shining ignorance one looks just like another.

On one of the rocks was a piece of blue material. Something very odd is going on round here. I've found blue material in bushes too. They are different patterns - plain or plaid - but always blue. Who is scattering scraps of blue material round the place? And why?

Looking up from the rocks. Trees. I was expecting willow. This is not willow! So what is it?

A bit had fallen on a rock.

But higher up - would you not say these are willow leaves? They were moving in the wind so much it was hard to take their portraits. But then . . . it's the wrong time of year for willow leaves . . . isn't it? Well this cliff is a mixture of soft rock and earth so I wasn't going to climb up to see. It would probably have come down. Being squashed wouldn't be fun.

Twist a bit further. What do we have here?

Sea defences in the form of walls built at the bottom of people's gardens. Ivy binding the steep earthy bit, reeds along the top then . . . a little hawthorn tree would you say?

I don't know what the pipe is sticking up from the sand but I took its picture. Not only was it photogenic but it stood still. I reckoned the post deserved at least one photo in focus.

Swinging back the other way to where I started - a video. Nothing much moves. The boat pier and the boats stay still. (They have been brought out of the water for the winter.) But you can hear the little waves. You can hear the wind. You can hear gulls. And the sound that sounds like birds twittering isn't birds but the boats' halyards rattling in the wind. They are like wind-chimes. A sea-side orchestra.

(At the end, the camera swoops down to the rocks we began with.)

As a separate issue . . .
If you would be interested in recieving
and reviewing this book - see this post.

There you are; a Stuck Foot post. I wobbled. I swivelled. But my feet didn't move. Not even a centimetre. You too could write a Stuck Foot Post. ? ? ? 

If you'd like to leave a link, there will be a box open from 21st - 25th January. There are currently fewer Stuck Footers than there are Tree Followers but those of us who stick our feet for posts get a lot out of it (I think!). (Well I do!)

All photos in this post  (and the video too) were taken on the afternoon of 15th January 2015.

For more info. - there's a Page for Stuck Footers. Do join us!

And last week I Stuck My Foot in a Garden - you might like to take a look at that post too.

Stuck-Foot Link Box

7am on 21st to 7pm on 25th January 2015

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WALKING BACK FROM THE CASTLE

Fish, Gold and Black, swimming among the Elodea crispa plants
in the pond in Sandsfoot Castle Park in Dorset, England.
Thanks to Mark and Gaz at Alternative Eden for water plant ID.
January 11th 2013

When the Castle was done up a bit last year
(and made safe to go inside)
 mats with grass on were laid along the tops of the ruins.
I don't know why. (They're falling off now.)
January 11th 2013

You know the castle in the view? The view we're following? Soon I'll show you round. First, though, I'll set up the year. Not that I've got a good record on this. I say I'll do things then never get round to them. That, or they go wrong. I decide to see what will grow in a particular patch of ground - and the council mows it. I decide to photograph the leaves of a particular tree - and forget all about them until they've not only opened but have dropped off in the autumn. Nevertheless, there are some things which are fairly well embedded in my ordinary Loose and Leafy routine. It's reassuring when we get to January to find the world is still going round much the same - at least, bits of it are! You can't stop the seasons.

Geese on the water. Portland Harbour January 11th 2013.

There's a good account of brent geese on the RSPB site.

For close up drawing to help with ID, plus more info.

So, imagine you are in the grounds of the castle-in-the-view. You've looked at the fish and the weed in the pond. Now you go into the castle itself (it's very small, what remains of it) and walk through it to a little platform overhanging the rocks to see what you can see. There's a lot of noise. A flock of geese (brent geese?) is landing on the water. They set off together for a very quick paddle - you can see where the water is left disturbed in their wake. The herring gulls on the rocks ignore them.

Dessicated blackberries.

January 11th 2013

Then you potter along a bit to look at the elderberry clump we've been following.  The remains of dessicated blackberries still stick out from it over the path. For much of the year, these trees are little more than climbing frames for brambles and ivy.

January 11th 2013
For all that it's a bit odd to recommend a video
about something quite this static,
if you haven't seen the Natural History Museum clip about
lichens as pollution indicators,
click HERE for Xanthoria parietina The Movie!
(And more .)

The lichen on it is a brash and ghastly orange. When it's densely packed like this . . . I'm not sure it's entirely pleasant.

Common Orange Lichen - well named! But it changes its shades; yellow one way and green the other. Sometimes it's very green - but not today; which is surprising because I've always associated the green with damp weather (and there's been almost nothing but recently!)

Xanthoria parietina is an indicator of nitrogen in the atmosphere too. Near the sea, as this is, nitrogen is to be expected. (Sea birds contribute a lot!)

Common Orange Lichen
(Xanthoria parietina)
January 11th 2013

The first picture shows its real colour on January 11th 2013. This is the same photo with the colours changed a bit to emphasise their gradations. (So you notice the bits which are a bit greener. Sometimes, they are greener still.)

Elderberry.
January 11th 2013

The elderberry leaf shoot we've been following for more than a year (!) and which did hardly anything last summer . . . .  There's a new leaf where the old one was. It's got a sort of head-start in height this time round. Maybe it will one day become a branch? This appears to be a long term project!

Ivy Berries
January 11th 2013

The year before last, I followed ivy until its berries ripened but never showed you what happened when they opened and dropped their seeds - so we'll take up with ivy roughly where we stopped off before. For all that it's a common plant, its flowers, berries - even the shapes of its leaves - go much un-noticed. I suspect its seeds are even more of a mystery. (See the post for December 3rd 2011 -  Exploding Ivy and for January 13th 2012 - The Berries Mature.)

Cock's Foot Grass (Dactylis glomerata) January 11th 2013

Grasses - I'm thinking it might be a good idea to make more of a fuss of grasses this year. Grass isn't just grass it's . . . well, here's some flowering already.

And the view.

The view we're following - with Sandsfoot Castle and tree.
January 11th 2013

I'm a little fed up with this view. It never does much except sit there and be beautiful. And I daren't go back to the dent where the willows are to look at the rocks because the cliffs have been so washed by rain recently I'm worried they'll slip down and squash anyone who goes too close.

So I'll pretend I've been back, even though I haven't, and put in a picture I took there before . . .

December 18th 2013

Shells emerging from one of the rocks in the dent. Prehistoric cockles? (Anyone know?)

* * *

January 11th 2013

Some tree followers have been rounding up their year with final posts about their particular tree. I'll soon do a round up of the round ups. Have you finished with your tree or will you be carrying on? Has it been interesting? Will you be choosing a new one?

This, as you can see, is the one in the foreground of my view. I'll be specially aware of it over the next few months because, by summer, it will be obscuring what's beyond - and, by then, the brent geese will have gone.

* * *

Best wishes for 2013

I hope your year has got off to a good start.

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THE SOGGINESS OF AUTUMN

This patch of Willow Herb is always striking
Click HERE for what it looked like in September 2011
(You'll need to scroll down.)

My camera has been away to be mended. The sun shone while it was away. As soon as it's come back, the light goes and the rain pours down as if heaven is emptying its bath water.

These blackberry leaves are pretty tatty and may fall.
But they may not.
For leaves from 2011 in March 2012
Click HERE.

Then there was a moment, not a long moment, but a moment long enough to dash out and dash back before it began to drizzle; a slow, steady shower from the gods. If it were spring, it would be welcome. Sliding through the mud, I wished my camera had come back yesterday. Trying to focus on sodden seeds, sodden everything, it seemed as if nature itself had gone out of focus, I thought 'no post here!'.

From the sky, you might think this was taken early in the day or in the evening.
No. Twenty past ten in the morning.

(It's very annoying.
I know I've taken a picture of this view before but can't find it.
When I do - I'll give the link.)

But there it is. Autumn.

I nearly said it's now 'winter' because these outlines will stay the same right through to spring - petrified reminders of last summer. But the air is warm. It's still autumn.

Now my camera's back, it can snow if it likes for all's right with my world - even if it is raining.

And the view we are following?

Pretty murky too.

For what this looked like on September 21st 2012
scroll down the post for the beginning of October.
Not a lot has changed so I've drawn back to give a wider view.

That's autumn for you!

Tree Following
Donna at Garden's Eye View
has a Tree Following Post
'Surrender'

If you have a recent tree following post
let me know
and I'll add a link here.

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